


Family, Huh?

by Deannie



Series: Young Mister Ryan and His Undercover Cousin [3]
Category: Castle, The Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: Gen, Magnificent Seven AU: ATF, Pre-ATF, Undercover, Wild Rover-related, pre-12th precinct
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-17
Updated: 2016-01-17
Packaged: 2018-05-14 14:08:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5747344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deannie/pseuds/Deannie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four months ago, twenty-five-year-old narcotics officer Kevin Ryan had given his mother a kiss on the cheek, left instructions with everyone important on how to contact him in an emergency (“And it better be an actual emergency, Gwen,” he’d joked lamely to his older sister. “Not just you wanting me to babysit.”), and boarded a ferry to Staten Island.</p><p>Kevin Ryan never got off that ferry, just as Fenton O’Connell never got on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Family, Huh?

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place when Kevin is undercover with the Irish mob and Ezra is still with the FBI.

Four months ago, twenty-five-year-old narcotics officer Kevin Ryan had given his mother a kiss on the cheek, left instructions with everyone important on how to contact him in an emergency (“And it better be an actual emergency, Gwen,” he’d joked lamely to his older sister. “Not just you wanting me to babysit.”), and boarded a ferry to Staten Island.

Kevin Ryan never got off that ferry, just as Fenton O’Connell never got on.

Fenton looked around Kelly’s Bar and suppressed a sigh. Four months—God, it felt like a year.

He’d gotten in good with all the right people—as friendly as brothers with Bobby S in a frighteningly short amount of time—and even had… something… going with Siobhan, the owner of the bar he was settled into right now; the bar where Bobby S and his dad, Danny Shannon, did most of their business.

It had been impressed on Kevin Ryan, before he left Manhattan and disappeared, that he was trying to do something no one had ever been able to do. Infiltrating the Irish mob was exactly as difficult as it sounded, as dangerous as it sounded, and given that two DEA agents had been found in the East River after trying to get in good with Danny Shannon, as deadly as it sounded.

He should be proud of himself. He’d not only _not_ been made, he’d been able to begin to build the bones of a case against Danny for the deaths of those agents. He didn’t know how long it would take to get this done, but it was going to be a hell of a lot longer than he’d thought it’d be when he boxed up his belongings and dropped them in his old room at his parents’ place before breaking his lease at his crappy apartment a few streets over.

While building this case, he’d already watched enough drugs go through the mob’s hands to kill a few schools full of kids. He’d seen Bobby S and his boys _convince_ a dozen merchants to purchase some protection, fighting not to flinch when one of those merchants came out of it with a broken arm. He’d been forced to do nothing. To tip his hand so soon would get him killed for sure. And it wouldn’t change anything. The drugs and the violence and the hell would just keep coming.

He was here to stop the Staten Island Machine for good, but that meant chipping away at the place, bit by bit. Danny Shannon was insanely careful. Worse, he was paranoid. Fenton had figured out his phone was under surveillance from almost the moment he and Bobby began hanging out together. Any friend of Bobby’s was an inherent risk, in Danny’s eyes.

Fenton thanked his lucky stars that Kevin Ryan was equally as paranoid. His cousin Ezra had been working undercover jobs for the FBI for more than a decade, and his experience had colored Kevin’s decisions in agreeing to this assignment.

He had made it plain that there would be no weekly check-ins, at least not in the traditional sense. Narco, the FBI, the DEA—they’d all wondered how Danny knew the pair he’d had killed were agents in the first place, and Kevin hadn’t been the only one to suggest that Danny must have been keeping track of their communications.

He never called in, and only a cousin in Buffalo and another in Chicago called him, irregularly. They’d set up vague shells for those two to go with the fake destinations, and the coded discussions they had were kept light and quick, so that they sounded more like family chatter than status reports. Fenton had an older brother, Cormac, in jail and out of contact, and his mom and dad were conveniently deceased—no attachments to be exploited.

He was all alone in the world.

He’d had one face to face with another Narco officer in the form of a bar brawl, and that was only so he could pass on a disk full of the data he’d amassed on upcoming shipments in the hopes of disrupting at least a few of them.

Kevin Ryan used to think his cousin’s life was glamorous and exciting. He’d thought deep cover work sounded awesome, in fact. Now he just wished he could call Ezra and tell him how much this sucked.

But he couldn’t call Ezra. Or his mom. Or anyone. He’d never been much of a loner and being one was proving that it had exactly zero to recommend it.

“Fenton, you look blue,” Bobby S said jovially, sliding onto the barstool next to him. “And even for you, it’s early to be drinking.”

It was. Kevin Ryan never drank before five or six in the afternoon, and here Fenton sat, having Guinness for lunch.

“I’m fine, Bobby,” he said quietly, trying to pull himself out of his funk and man up. He could do this. His captain wouldn’t have sent him in if he didn’t think that. “Everyone has one of those days, right?”

Bobby grinned and slapped him lightly on the back and Fenton O’Connell’s stomach churned. He liked Bobby. A lot. He was the kind of guy Kevin Ryan would have run with, back in his own neighborhood. A scrappy Irish kid with a Catholic school chip on his shoulder.

A scrappy Irish kid who’d threatened to burn down an old man’s store yesterday, because he didn’t have his protection money.

Kevin had been warned by one of the older cops, back when all this was just a vague idea instead of a plan of action, that the biggest danger in deep cover work was buying into your own press. There was a razor-sharp line between selling your backstory and selling your soul.

Kevin Ryan had gone to Mass two days before he left and prayed he’d never do the latter. So far he’d been lucky to maneuver his way out of the big stuff—he’d busted a couple of display cases at a local bakery, nothing more—but the camaraderie he shared with Bobby S and a few of his boys cut at him. He didn’t want to like them. He sure as hell didn't want to look forward to hanging out with them, but sometimes...

“What do you say we go over to my place and play some pool?” Bobby asked. “Try to turn your day around?”

Fenton smiled wanly. “I’m not sure how losing money to you at the table is supposed to make me feel better,” he lobbed back weakly. But it would feel good, which made Kevin Ryan’s skin crawl.

“Ah, I’ll let you win.” Bobby grinned. “A couple of times, at least.”

Fenton tried to get his head together. Pool at Bobby’s house—Danny’s house, in point of fact—was another of those ideal opportunities to pick up extra intell. It got him in good with Danny and his wife (Breen Shannon scared Fenton more than the men did, and that was saying something). It was exactly the chance he should be taking.

And he was seriously considering waving his _friend_ off and staying here with his beer. Because if he lost himself here, Kevin Ryan wasn't getting back to Manhattan. He'd end up in the river, or Fenton O'Connell would take that ferry back in his place. His cellphone chose that moment to ring and he worked hard not to tense up at the buzz in his jacket. He wasn’t scheduled for a call from anyone, and Danny’s second-in-command, Joey, had told him he was off the hook for protection detail for a few days at least.

“You gonna answer that, or are you avoiding someone?” Bobby asked, a mere sliver of suspicion in his voice that still had Fenton straightening up and fully back in control.

“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbled, as if he just didn’t want to bother to talk to anyone today. That changed when he saw the caller ID: `Cormac O’Connell`

Ezra!? Without thinking through what might be going on, Fenton grinned big at Bobby and connected the call. “Cormac! Where the hell are you?”

“Free as a bird, Fenton,” his cousin replied gruffly, his accent slightly more New Jersey than Fenton’s own. “Hear you washed up back in New York?” There was a question beyond the question.

“Yeah, well, can’t stay away, right? Place grows on you,” Fenton replied, letting Ezra know his operation was proceeding. He finally thought to wonder why Ezra’s undercover ego was calling him. Cormac O’Connell had been an iron-clad cover for Ezra Standish for eight years, and Ezra had suggested that Kevin’s deep cover be back-vetted to be Cormac’s kid brother, giving Kevin an extra out should something go wrong, while increasing Fenton’s legitimacy. If Danny looked into the O’Connell family, he’d find Fenton’s apple didn’t fall far from the tree.

Cormac O’Connell was currently doing two-to-five for trafficking in an unnamed federal prison. If he was out, something was going on, either in Atlanta or Staten Island…

“Thought you were in for another year,” Fenton said. “What’d you do—dig your way out with a spoon?” He grinned at Bobby S, who was clearly trying to look like he wasn’t trying to listen to Cormac’s side of the conversation.

“Good behavior, little brother,” Cormac said, a sarcastic grin in his voice. “The guards loved me.” He paused a moment, getting to the heart of the matter. “I’m working Atlanta at the moment. Not willingly.” _Working Atlanta._ Shit. Cormac was an active cover again, then. What the hell were the odds?

Well, now he’d have another point of contact, but he was sure Ezra wouldn’t have any more access to the outside world than he did. He was simply doing what any big brother would do, selling the backstory for both of them, in case it turned out to be a small world after all. Could be deadly if someone here somehow knew Cormac was out of jail and his own brother didn’t.

“No shit?” Fenton said. “South hasn’t always been good to you, Cormac, watch your ass, yeah?” And he meant that.

“Yeah, you, too, little brother.” Cormac replied warmly. His voice was a little cooler as he continued. “Nothing much going on, but I hear there’re jobs for guys like us. Maybe I’ll get lucky.” He chuckled wryly. “Or maybe I’ll just screw parole and head on up to Staten Island.” Because Ezra would if he could, Kevin knew.

Fenton smirked, but inside, Kevin Ryan wished that could be the case. “Nah. Nothing much for you here either, big brother,” he told him, letting him know again that things were going as well as could be expected. “And I’m not sure the island could handle two O’Connell boys, you know?” Even if Ezra would think of busting in on the operation (and he hadn't lived as long as he had by being that stupid), Danny wouldn’t trust the convenient addition to the neighborhood, putting them both in danger.

Bobby S. was buzzing with curiosity on the barstool beside him. Time to dive back in. “Listen, I got a game I gotta get to,” he said breezily. “Gotta lose some more money to the boss.”

“Always a game with you,” Cormac shot back with a chuckle. “Fucking shame, Fenton. You could be a hell of a pool shark if you just applied yourself.” Kevin read the words Ezra didn’t say: _Yes, this sucks. And you can do this._

Fenton O’Connell took a deep breath, shoring up his cover, but meaning every word he was about to say. “It’s good to hear your voice, Cormac.”

“You, too, Fenton,” Cormac replied softly. There was no hint of Ezra’s usual Southern drawl, but Kevin pretended he heard it anyway. “Go make yourself look bad in front of the boss.”

Fenton laughed a genuine laugh. Maybe things really would be okay. “Yeah, fuck you, Cormac.”

He hung up, feeling better than he had in a week, and drained the rest of his beer. “Family, huh?” he said, slapping Bobby on the back and tossing money and a wink Siobhan’s way as he rose. “Come on, let’s go.”

Bobby smiled, at ease with his friend, and Fenton tried to remember to relax. This one was a long haul and he’d known it going in. He could keep it going—just as long as he needed to.

Right up to the best part. When the good guys won.

*******  
the end


End file.
